Sia Furler has had an unconventional trajectory; the 38-year-old star, who has put behind her drug addiction and a suicide attempt, and hates fame so much she poses with a paper bag over her head, has become the go-to songwriter for gargantuan gloss pop, penning hits for Rihanna, Britney and David Guetta. Her own material spirals into destructive depths, and her sixth album is a release of pure Lena Dunham-generation angst ("We've still not kissed yet and I've already cried", "Party girls don't get hurt … when will I learn?"). Sung in that distinctive voice – a mixture of tormented whine and croak that channels the wild abandon of Cyndi Lauper – she mimics generic pop but warps it cleverly. Fire Meet Gasoline, for example, is Beyoncé's Halo on a never-ending bender. Her talent and torment is enrapturing, but while Sia deserves stardom, 1,000 Forms of Fear is so sonically flawless and contemporary-sounding that its impact may fade with time.